Because we can't
by MQDK
Summary: Dean Winchester missed his brother but knew he was gone. Loosing his angel side kick was by far, the worst thing he had ever had to endure. End-verse!


Dean didn't know why Cass didn't understand. He'd always been the one who'd understood Dean - at times, even more than Dean understood himself. At first he thought it was because Cass had fallen; Dean thought maybe he'd lost something more than just his grace. When the alcohol came, and the drugs shortly after, Dean wanted to blame them. But none of those things affected Castiel's mind the way they affected his personality.

Dean didn't know why Cass didn't understand, but he couldn't bring himself to explain.

"Come on," Cass coaxed. Dean could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke lowly against Dean's ear, but that was nothing new these days. "Just once, and I'll never bother you about it again."

"No, Cass." Dean's voice was a little rougher than he meant it to be, a little louder, as he swatted Castiel away. But Cass just laughed, flopping easily onto the other side of the sofa.

"Why the hell not?" Cass asked, but his voice wasn't angry. If anything, it was amused. "There's always been something between us, Dean. You can't deny that. I didn't understand what it was way back when, but I do now."

"We can't," Dean sighed, words softer now. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his palms. This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, not by a long shot, but Cass always brought it up. He wouldn't let it go, and Dean wanted nothing more than to do just that.

"Why not?" Cass repeated, a little more exasperated this time. He pushed himself off from the couch, taking a knee on the floor in front of Dean, tugging gently at his wrists and pulling his hands away from his face. Dean allowed it but refused to make eye contact, glaring over Castiel's head or down at his shoulder rather than into his eyes. "Dean, you've wanted this for years. What better excuse to go after something you've been denying yourself than the fact that any day could be our last?"

Green eyes dragged themselves down to meet blue, and what Dean saw made his heart clench. Cass had his head ever so slightly tilted to the side, eyes brimming with confusion and just the smallest bit of sadness, and Dean wanted nothing more than to wrench his eyes away from that familiar face, all the thoughts of that first day, all the memories of all the days afterward. Because he did want this, wanted nothing more, but that was exactly why he couldn't let it happen. And he still didn't know why Cass couldn't understand.

"Cass, no." His gaze was hard and steady, his voice low and raw, and he wasn't sure whether the small shadow of a frown he saw before Cass laughed and pulled away was really there.

"Suit yourself. Your loss." And Castiel shoved himself up from the floor, downed the last of his beer, and left Dean's cabin without another word; and Dean buried his face back in his hands and heaved out a sigh.

It was hard enough when it happened to the camp dwellers that he'd known for no more than a year, and that was being generous in most cases. Dean still wasn't sure how he'd survived when it happened to Bobby. He was so close to not pulling that trigger, so close to saying, "He's already in a wheelchair, how much harm can he do? We'll just leave him here where he can't get to anyone."

Cass was the one who helped him through it, the one who placed that comforting hand on his shoulder and whispered, "You have to, Dean. He's not himself. He'll find a way, any way, to spread the virus, and you know it." And Dean did know it, but without Castiel's words, he wouldn't have been able to put those bullets into his father figure's chest.

Dean already worried every day about the danger he was putting the camp in, selfishly keeping Cass around. Lucifer was wearing Sam like a cocktail dress, Bobby was dead and gone, and Dean wasn't sure he would be able to loose Cass. As they were, Dean trusted his strength. He trusted Cass to be able to tell him if the Croats had gotten to him before the symptoms of the virus kicked in. Dean trusted Cass to tell him to do the right thing,to just shoot Cass before he went nuts. As they were, Dean trusted himself to listen. It would hurt like hell, hurt worse than Hell, hurt like tearing his own soul out, and he might not be able to keep up his strong facade for the camp members; but as long as they stayed as they were, Dean trusted himself to do it.

And Dean knew, if he ever accepted Castiel's advances, if he ever took their relationship to the level he'd always wanted to take it to, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to kill Cass if the need ever arose. And he knew that if he couldn't bring himself to do it, he wouldn't let anyone else do it either.

What he didn't get, was why Cass wouldn't understand that...


End file.
